Shattered
by Panthers17nfl
Summary: We cannot chase that which does not run from us.
1. Chapter 1

"It isn't conjured anywhere but here, I can assure you."

"So confident, yet you make certain to try to assure me."

"You understand my angst. I'm not certain that you believe me."

"I don't make any relative effort to believe you. I already know you to be a liar."

The young apothecary is beyond words. I pocket the vial that I purchased from his deceitful hands and shove off through his front door. The sidewalk is patchily covered with a cheap but hardy rock. Adjacent to and across from the liar's store are countless other shops and salons that strive for the same nonsensical commerce that the apothecary gets - the felonious bastard.

The morning is dull and cold. Bustling alike the crowds below is a whirling wind which makes no hesitation to annoy down the chimneys of the marketplace. Garbage holes of solid stone speckle the street corners and bored crowds flock to the ignited ones to keep warm as the snowy wind beats against their backs.

I take a look through the scoundrel's window and spit at his foundation. Down the street rests a frequently passed yet seldom visited tavern. It takes much time to carry on down this street. The mindless habits of the masses make sure to keep the streets as hideously engrossed as possible. Even moments later behind the rackety wooden walls of the tavern can I find no solace.

"Surely the cold's murderous out there."

"Not as deadly as the idiots who bear it."

The hearty old barkeeper laughs. "It's not often you see a day as forsaken as this. Must be some storm having a fit up in the mountains."

"Whatever the mountains are brewing up there has to be far less bitter than whatever black-water you have brewing in here."

The barkeeper laughs again. "Three years of your business and you'd expect someone a lot less sharp-witted."

We talk for a few minutes longer. Ginnis never determined to manage the most rustic and popular tavern of the town. No, the Splinter's Remorse is as crowded with people as it is jovial in name. The buoyant ambiance of the ornate and well-lit inns down either leg of the street draw enough drunken patrons to line through doors and down the sidewalks. And when the hour finally comes that those grandiose houses of the elegant close for the night, the comatose people lumber home. Yet the Splinter's Remorse remains open. Ginnis will rub tables and polish glasses in privacy for the majority of the evening.

"I've always warned about walking these streets at night." He shook a glass at me.

"Viridian hasn't reported an attack in many months."

"That only means one's bound to happen again."

"Even if the fools do come back, there won't be anything to raid."

"That doesn't mean they won't pillage like they normally do."

I paused for a moment. "The quarry."

Ginnis set the glass down and raised an arm in realization. "Of course, the quarry. Doesn't matter that all that's there is makeshift tools and heaps of coal. Doesn't matter that anything they _can_ steal weighs more than the pitiful lot of them. They'll raid us anyway."

The town is a frequent vacation for the passing bandits of neighboring villages. Most common are the routine attacks launched by the haphazard rank of the Black Foragers. They seldom kill our people, but their visits are nevertheless an inconvenience, and the few caravans that do bother trading with us, who are inevitably attending such establishments as the liar's or the illustrious inns down the street, will steer clear of us for days.

Ginnis has by this time convinced me for a short glass of his bitter pumpkin cider. The taste at least works to wash out whatever nonsense had been roaming my mouth for hours past.

The fragile wooden door is thrust open. "Emilio."

I turn my head coolly. "It's been too long since your face has been in Viridian."

"You need to follow me."

By this time I feel his urgency. "Why, what have we developing?"

"It's the apothecary."

I leave my glass at the table and close the door behind me as I rush down the sidewalk.


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't imagine you'd explain to me what's the matter." We shove ourselves through the obnoxious crowd.

"You know Deja. Deja de Mattia?"

"He had sold me this vial but half an hour ago."

"Were you the last person into his shop?"

"How could I know the answer to that?"

We approach Deja's godforsaken apothecary and Constantine stops me at the door. "Emilio, we can't ever forget who this man is now."

"I know quite well who he is." I grin and lift his arm off of my shoulder.

"You don't understand."

"I truly don't."

Constantine has had a difficult challenge quieting his breathing this whole time. I see him observe a man dressed in arcane garb walking down the street. Just as quickly does he disappear into the horde of anybodies does Constantine catch his breath and speak normally. He crosses his arms and leans coolly against the doorframe.

"What is that vial?"

"How do you know Deja, my friend?"

"He and I worked together at the college many summers ago."

"That must have been an unfortunate experience."

"He was a different man."

"I can't imagine anything worse than his current self."

"He was a better man."

"That isn't a difficult compliment to give, when you see what he has devolved into."

"He is no villain."

"Constantine, the man is hardly human." I peer in to see Deja pouring colored flasks into different colored flasks and taking notes on his captivating discoveries.

"You don't give him rest, do you?"

"He deserves none."

Constantine plants his arms on his waist and stares into the restless torrent of hats and heavy coats. We enter the foul man's apothecary and slowly carry through the aisles.

"We were in such a mad dash to get here," I whispered to him, "Why are we in no hurry now?"

"I just wanted to make sure he was still open."

"It's still just a few hours past sunrise." We carry on walking silently towards the back of the shop where Deja situates behind his bar. We greet his back as he continues shaking vials in his hands.

"If you've already finished that one off, you'll have to wait a few days before I can brew up another. Damned spider eyes take ages to ferment." Deja points to my vial and laughs to himself as he begins mixing two strange liquids together. It gives off an exotic hissing sound as the solution settles. "This is what they call an Acuity Draught." He shakes the flask before us to show its now solidified state. "It will take a couple of hours to melt into a liquid again." He pinches a piece of the mass out of the glass and throws it carelessly behind him. "But when it does, if you can manage to finish the entire thing, you'll see as clear in the twilight hours as you would at midday."

"Fascinating." I remark.

"Well I find it so."

"Of course you do." Constantine laughs. "You couldn't keep away from the potions and lecterns years ago. I wouldn't imagine you being any different today." He is surely a different man. A pitiful excuse for a man, anyways.

"I haven't changed a gram, no, certainly not. Oh, but I have indeed grown!" Deja corrects him. "He paces towards a tall bookshelf across the room and reaches for a particularly mangled old scripture. He rubs the grey dust from the cover and rests the book on his table. "Fourth moon, seventh pass, year 1562." He reads the date. "I wrote to myself, 'The findings you have unearthed here are just the beginning.'" Deja scratches his head in forgetfulness. "I think this was referring to my obsession with the properties of sugar." He sifts through a few further pages and accidentally forces a slight tear into one of them in his excitement. "Eighth moon, third pass, year 1564."

"Good lord Deja, you needn't remind me of my old age with these numbers of the past." Constantine interrupts him.

He continues. "'The college has granted me thirteen hundred grams of sugar per night to work with.'" He grins, reminiscent of his past achievements. "'I will conduct and re-conduct numerous experiments, and I will surely unlock the secrets of this sweet substance.'"

"You are indeed renowned for your mastery of the alchemical properties of sugar."

"It took many nights of toiling to get there, Cosatitinos!"

"But you are here now, a profound apothecary and alchemist!"

"Ah, but you must never forget that the process is what makes the destination so marvelous!"

Constantine and the apothecary recalled their years together at the college and entertained themselves to the apothecary's cauldron and current brews. I divert my attention to an ancient newsletter encased in glass beneath a painting. It reads of how Deja headed the shop after his beloved older brother had died in a Black Forager raid.

"So how long are you to stay in Viridian?" Deja asked.

"Until this gentleman decides to die, I suppose." Constantine grins at me.

"Do be careful with the potion you purchased, sir. I only ever endorsed its usage for self defense."

"What did you buy from him anyway?" I retrieve the vial from my pocket.

"It's a Strength Draught." Deja explains before I can open my mouth. "It's effects can be described as giving a brief period of super strength. I've seen it used in the Arena sometimes. Nasty fights they turn out to be."

"Goodness, Emilio. You weren't thinking to use that for your kind of work, I hope? These swigs are for the more dangerous lot. You haven't been called to active patrol in ages, and beyond that, you're to retire from your post in just a few passes! God knows what you'd get yourself into if you convince yourself to have the strength of the Besiegers."

"Though he probably would." Deja defends his potion.

"It's just to be used in calamity."

"And you will see no such calamity in your days!" Constantine barks.

"They don't let me return because they doubt my abilities."

"And a potion will give you the strength to perform as the others do? Emilio, surely you grow tired of your work."

"The Netherworld doesn't spare time for the tired. It hardly makes room for the weak."

"And yet in your state you expect to be able to carry yourself properly."

"I've been known to carry myself before."

"Every one moment that you struggle to continue your work is another two moments that you will spend disintegrating a withered old man on your deathbed. Give yourself rest as you know you need it."

"But I do not deserve it."

"But you do need it."

"What I do need is rest from your words, Constantine." He sighs and returns to Deja at his cauldron.

Suddenly, a wave of panic flushes over his face. "Deja."

He sets down his delicate vials and tongs and looks at Constantine.

"What do you know of the Beholder's Peril?"

"What brings them into mention?"

"A man in a white robe and the traditional red patterns travelled through the streets not twenty minutes ago."

Deja now shares the same face. "He just, walked amidst the crowds, then?" Deja questions. "Not a person decided to shrug at his presence among them?"

"Not many have seen Peril occultists walking about in broad daylight. They are a night-time clan."

"No, you're right, of course. But why were you not so shaken minutes ago as you are now?"

"I'd assumed he was destined towards his execution or court trial."

"What convinces you otherwise?"

I follow Constantine's eyes focused out the apothecary's windows and sight the white robe standing immediately outside, his shrouded face peering conspicuously into the store.


End file.
